


Finally Facing My Waterloo

by Colette_Capricious



Category: Supernatural
Genre: First Time, Frottage, M/M, Season/Series 02, abuse of movie quotes, schmoopy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-23
Updated: 2013-06-23
Packaged: 2017-12-15 21:28:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/854243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Colette_Capricious/pseuds/Colette_Capricious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The World's Largest Thermometer, Wal-Mart, and a waterpark. Or Sam and Dean's Excellent Adventure</p><p> </p><p>  <i>Dean blinks back a surprise surge of emotion when he’s hit again by how much Sam got cheated out of in his life. Dean is going to spend the rest of his trying to make it up to his little brother. “It’s okay, Sam. C’mon. Let’s go.”</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Finally Facing My Waterloo

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sammichgirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sammichgirl/gifts).



“Welcome to Bun Boy Country!” reads the huge banner on the side of the road. “Bun country sucks,” Sam tells the sign, flipping it the bird as he zooms through a lunar landscape of gravel, scrub palms, and sand at 90 miles an hour.

A few miles later they hit Baker, California, and the World Largest Thermometer ™ reads 114 degrees. From the backseat Dean swears on the red-and-white checked pants of the Bob’s Big Boy statue that if they don’t stop right now and get some fucking air-conditioning (he apologizes to Baby, he knows she's doing her best), a fucking milkshake and some goddamn French fries right now, he’s gonna –

“- Keep whining like a little bitch,” Sam finishes. “Yeah, I know.” Sam jerks the car maybe a bit more roughly than necessary into the parking lot behind the WLT ™.

Dean somehow manages to look pissed and impressed at the same time. “Oh, _little bitch_ , nice. I didn’t know you had it in you.” Sam rolls his eyes and gives Dean bitchface #74 for the day (Dean is keeping track) as he opens the back door. Need a hand?” 

Dean scoffs. “No. I’m fine.”

“Right,” Sam answers, pushing his sweaty girl-hair out his eyes.

“You want a scrunchie for that, Samantha?” _Ooh, look, number 75_. Dean grits his teeth, rolls himself to his back, and eases himself out of the car. Limping and cradling his right arm, he follows Sam across the parking lot. Sure, they’d relocated the shoulder, but it still hurts. And his ankle hurts like a mother. And he’s sure Sammy did a piss poor job sewing up the gash on his, well, ass. Not like he wanted Sam to spend too much time down there, but still, there are some places you just can’t reach yourself. Not like they can go to the hospital. Accidentally burn down _one_ little building and suddenly the _all _the police want to talk to you.__

Dean and Sam both sigh as the arctic air of Bob’s Big Boy hits them, carrying with it the scent of grease, beef, and more grease. Sam starts toward what would be their usual booth, one side against the wall, view of the parking lot. Dean grabs his arm to stop him, motioning in what he hopes is a nonchalant way towards the stools lining the counter. Sam raises one eyebrow, forehead crinkling. Dean rolls his eyes and surreptitiously pats his left hip. Sam nods and changes course to the short end of the bar. Dean leans more than sits, resting his one good butt-cheek on the stool. Their perch is a little too open for him, but at least they can still see the Impala, gleaming like coal, heat shimmering illusions around her in the relentless sun. Dean sees Sam look at the heat blasting off the hood, up to the thermometer, and back down. Sam's sigh is heartfelt. No offense to his baby, but Dean has to agree with him. He isn’t looking forward to getting back into the black interior. At least not without some more pain killers and two bags of ice.

The waitress takes their orders. No surprises. Bacon cheeseburger for Dean. Some kind of salad thing for Sam. Milkshakes and large glasses of water all around. 

Sammy stands up and stretches. Dean gets a brief glimpse of the white gauze covering the four long scratches stretching around Sam’s hip. He knows there’s a matching set on Sam’s shoulder. It's hard to tell through the sweat, but it looks like the shoulder might be bleeding through the gauze. He catches Sam’s eye and jerks his chin towards the wound. “Should let me take a look at that. Think it’s bleeding through.”

Sam frowns and rotates his arm, checking the stretch. He grimaces. “Nah, I think it’s okay. Fucking wendigos.”

“You got that right.” Dean thanks the waitress as she drops off their water. Nice and cold, condensation running down the sides. “Thank god.” He hisses as he lifts it, forgetting about the dislocated shoulder.

Sam looks worried. “How ‘bout you? How’re you doing?”

“Well, my ass is killing me but the ankle’s not broke. Bruised, cut, in pain. The usual.”

Sam exhales something that might be a laugh. “Yeah. I’m gonna hit the men’s room. Order me some fries if the waitress gets back before I do?” 

“But what about your girlish figure?” Dean calls to his departing back. Without turning around, Sam flips him the bird over his shoulder. 

“Your brother?” the waitress asks. 

“How can you tell?" Dean replies with a smile as she drops a burger down in front of him. "That was fast.” 

“It’s what we do.” She smiles at him. 

She looks sweet when she smiles. The same as the hundreds of waitresses in hundreds of diners Dean had eaten at in his 27 years. A short time ago he would have flirted with her on general principle. But that was before. Before Dad died. Before Sam’s visions. Now he just smiles a generic smile at her as she slides Sam’s salad in front of his empty spot. “Yeah, the sasquatch is my little brother. D’you mind bringing him some fries, too? Otherwise he’ll just eat mine.”

“No problem, honey.” She grabs the milkshakes from the machine and refills their water glasses before leaving. Dean makes a mental note to pay her in cash and not some scammed credit card. As a general rule, he tries not to scam waitresses but their cash is running low.

He sees Sam making his way back from the bathroom. He stops at the rack of tourist brochures near the front door and flips through them idly. Checking for motel discount coupons, Dean figures as he bites into his burger.

They eat mostly in silence, dragging it out, neither in a rush to go back into the heat. Sam is even more quiet than usual. Dean gives up trying to make conversation after the third grunted reply. The aches and pains start settling in for real now, making themselves more apparent the longer they sit. Finally they can drink no more water and even the french fry grease is gone off their plates. Dean slides off the stool, catching the waitress’s eye and motioning for the check. His hand lands heavy on Sam’s shoulder, and he sucks in air between his teeth as his bad ankle touches the ground. Sam grabs his forearm for stability and looks up at Dean, eyebrows furrowed. Dean turns the clutching hold into a (hopefully) reassuring pat. “S’okay. Pay the lady. I’m going to drain the weasel.” _Here comes seventy-six_. Dean limps away with a smile. He bet himself he could hit 100 by the end of the day.

On the way out, he sees Sam staring blankly into the scrub and gravel parking lot. He’s slumped near the door jam, head up by the 6’ mark on the ‘how tall was your robber, ma’am?’ strip. Even from a few feet away, Dean can see that blood is starting to seep through his t-shirt. They’re both beat. With a sigh, he moves to the exit. His hand brushes against the brochure rack that had caught Sam’s attention and he looks down to see if anything good is on offer. Not much, they’re in the middle of nowhere. Nothing to do, nowhere to go. One blue and white brochure catches his eye, sparking a memory. He glances up at Sam. Still staring. Dean pulls out the bent flier from the wooden rack, the picture on the front catching on an old memory from the deep recesses of his brain. Splash Kingdom Waterpark in Redlands. 

“Dean,” Sam calls from the doorway, tilting his chin towards the unnecessarily bright outdoors. Dean shoves the brochure in his back pocket and walks over to Sam. The heat slams down on them the second they open the door, sucking the coolness of the a/c off their skin like it had never happened. White glare stabs viciously into their eyes. Sam reaches for the Impala’s door handle and pulls back with a curse, shaking his hand. 

“Fuck this,” Dean says decisively. He points to the Bun Boy motel sign. “Free movie channel. Good enough for me. Wanna stay here tonight?”

Sam looks pointedly at the decidedly cracking stucco, empty, rusted swimming pool, and unpainted doors of the long grey building behind the diner. “Oh yeah. Looks like heaven.”

Dean shrugs. “Looks better then more hours in the car. I don’t think I can bend enough to get back in.” 

Sam turns back to the car, grimacing at the pain in his shoulder and hip. He reaches over, touching the bandage gingerly. His fingers come back bloody. He tips his head towards Dean, eyebrows raised, conceding the point.

They walk slowly to the registration desk, smiling politely at the couple leaving the diner who strongly urge that they stay somewhere else. “I don’t think the roaches even like this place, honey,” the woman in the trucker’s cap offers. 

“Yeah, I’m getting that feeling,” Dean grimaces. “Thanks.”

Dean gets the room, and tells Sam he’ll meet him and could he drive baby around. He really _doesn’t_ think he can get back in the car.

Inside the room is…not good. Even on the Winchester scale, it only rates a star and a half. The sheets are one step above sandpaper, the mattresses stained with probably every bodily fluid known to man and woman (and possibly sheep), and the floor is linoleum. Probably easier to hose it down than to clean the carpets, Dean muses. But the air from the anemic window air conditioner is cooler than outside, the water in the shower is almost cool, and the movies are free. Forty-five minutes later they’re showered, wounds repatched, and sitting on top of their sleeping bags drinking luke-warm beer from the ice-bucket sweating between them on the shared bed.

Sam hasn’t said more than two words to Dean since the diner. He’s used to quiet Sam after the post-hunt adrenaline crash, but this is different, goes deeper. Dean can almost see the black cloud hanging over his little brother’s head. It’d been a rough hunt, a rougher few months. Both of them were running on fumes. He can see the toll it's taking on Sam. But still Dean can’t help be glad that Sammy is with him, through it all. He wouldn’t have survived Dad’s death without Sam. He has no doubt about that. Dean feels the press of Sam’s shoulder, the lift of his chest as he slumps further into Dean as sleep takes him. Dean grabs the beer out of Sam’s hands before it can spill on the bed. He drinks it down, and then finishes his as the desert sun sets outside the window. 

Dean watches the light from the TV as it flickers over Sam’s sleeping form. He’s had Sam back a little over a year and it still doesn’t seem real. He doesn’t often get to examine him unnoticed like this. Sam had gotten taller at Stanford. Definitely wider and more muscled. Regular meals had to have helped and felt a pang at all the meals Sam had had to miss growing up like they did. All the crappy food while his body was trying to grow giant-sized. Dean knows that is part of why he likes to see Sam eating now. Something about Sam missing things nags at Dean like whatever he had been trying to remember earlier back in the diner. He slides down deeper into the bed, using the last of his energy to set the ice bucket and empty bottles on the floor, and falls asleep fully clothed next to Sam.

It’s still dark when Dean wakes up on his stomach. The thin ribbon of cold air from the a/c curls around him in contrast to the bands of heat that are Sam’s arm across his back and Sam’s leg thrown over his hips. Sam’s breath is hot on the back of his neck, tickling the short hairs there. Dean rolls his hips a little into the scratchy sheets as the weight of Sam’s leg pushes his morning wood nicely into the bed, and contemplates going back to sleep. Sam shifts suddenly and knees Dean right in the wound on his ass. Dean hisses and jerks up. Mumbling into the pillow, Sam grabs at Dean’s shirt, pawing at him restlessly, smacking his face and trying to get Dean to stop moving. Generally being as much of a bed hog as he always was. When his full bladder and throbbing ankle start to gang up on him, Dean gives into the inevitable and starts to try and wiggle out from underneath octoSam.

“Dongo,” Sam mumble-drools, pawing ineffectually at Dean’s t-shirt. “M’comfy.”

Dean ducks out from under Sam’s arm, quickly substituting the pillow for his body, then slides sideways off the bed. Sam’s leg thuds to the cheap mattress as hugs the pillow closer. “De-eeean,” he whines. “Still dark.” Dean chuckles and leans down to kiss his little brother’s head. “I gotta pee,” he says, running his fingers through Sam’s hair, knowing it will put Sam back to sleep in two seconds. Sure enough, Sam’s breathing evens out and Dean knows he won’t even remember waking up. If Dean overlooks the size of his body, it could be twelve-year-old Sammy. Sleep washes the cares of the day from his face, smoothing out the lines between his eyes and the creases on his brow Dean was beginning to worry were permanent. Feeling the confusing rush of love and caring and frustration and want that being with Sam always stirs up, Dean kisses Sam on his forehead and heads for the shower.

His shirt and jeans are crusty with salt sweat and he grimaces as he peels them off. The slick corner of a brochure slides out of the back pocket of his jeans and Dean reaches down to pull it out. Now he remembers why he’d grabbed it. It was an ad and discount tickets to Waterland in Redlands. The memories of the last time they’d passed through Redlands slams into him.

Sam was 7, Dean was 11. They’d passed through Redlands on their way to a hunt in freakin’ Death Valley of all places. They’d just recently seen Bill & Ted’s Excellent Adventure in an actual movie theater. It was a year old by that point and at the discount movie theater, but it was Sam’s first movie not on a 13’ motel TV and they were both quoting it like crazy. Sam paled when they passed the waterpark, sure it was Waterloo and this was San Dimas. Dean realized that to his little brother the waterpark had been just as fictional as a time-traveling phone booth. Sam begged his Dad to take them. Needless to say, it didn’t work. Dad had stashed them in a motel, as usual, and gone on.

Dean shakes his head realizing Sam must have remembered the minute he’d seen the thermometer. Sam had a memory like an elephant’s and held on to past hurts like they were gold. No wonder he’d been crankier than normal. Well, they had nowhere to be for a few days, and they deserved some fun after this shitstorm of a year. Dean is going to surprise his little brother, damn it.

By the time Dean gets out of the shower, Sam is awake, sitting on the end of the bed and glowering at the room as if it had personally offended him.

Now that Dean gets a good look at it, the room is personally offensive. Wearing just a pair of thin cotton boxers, he limps over the other bed and flops down on his stomach. “Hey, Sam. A little help here?”

Sam rubs his eyes and just looks at Dean. His little brother isn’t at his sharpest before coffee. Dean waves his hand in the general direction of his ass. “I need a rebandaging. Shower?” The bandage Sam had taped on last night hangs on by one corner and pulls uncomfortably on the hairs on his upper leg.

“Uh. Yeah. Right.” Sam stands slowly and looks around the room, eyes blinking at the light coming in the uncurtained windows. “Desk,” Dean prompts when it becomes obvious Sam is not going to find the first aid kit anytime soon. Sam grunts and grabs the pack, carrying it over to the bed.

Dean braces for the rip of the tape as Sam settles on the bed next to him and reaches for the bandage. It never comes. Dean feels Sam’s hand hovering over the injury, finger tips just touching the skin at the top. The cut just reaches the lower curve of his cheek. Dean inhales as Sam slides his finger around the edges of the cut, under the bandage and gently pulls the loose parts away. He holds his breath as Sam places his entire palm on Dean’s upper thigh and pulls gently, tightening the skin, and tugs tentatively at the tape.

“It’s, uh, it’s kind of stuck. Just…”

Dean’s hips flex ever so slightly as Sam leans into his back, pushing him gently into the bed. They both exhale as Sam rips the tape off in one quick move. Sam sits there, holding the wet gauze and soggy tape in one hand, the other still flat on Dean’s thigh, holding him on the bed.

 _Boy really needs some coffee,_ Dean thinks desperately. _What’s up with that air conditioner? I thought it was working? Freakin’ hot in here._ He clears his throat but doesn’t move. Doesn’t want to spook Sam. Not with his giant, hot hand so close to the cut and Dean’s ass. Sam’s fingers clench briefly and Dean’s hips again jerk without his permission before Sam yanks his hand away. He knows Sam didn’t mean anything by it. Not like that, not anymore. Sure, there’d been some lingering looks in the past and some awkward and abruptly-ended sparring matches. No lines had ever been crossed though. And they had been just kids, horny teenagers. Hot for any warm body. And, hey, they were both damn good-looking. Sam had those eyes. And now this…giant…muscular body. Just for nostalgia, Dean lets one tiny memory of Sam’s eyes hot with lust drift across his brain before slamming that door nice and tight.

“Yeah, yeah,” Sam answers in response to something Dean hasn’t asked. “Yeah. It looks good. Nice. Healing. Let me rebandage it.”

Dean turns his head on the pillow of his arms, squinting out the window at the white glare of the sun promising heat, heat, and more heat. “Pad it up nice and good. Got a surprise planned for us today.”

Sam pauses in his taping. “What kind of surprise, Dean?” Sam asks suspiciously, like Dean had a hidden strip club or floating poker game or something as equally unsavory hidden somewhere. Dean is hurt, cut to the core that his little brother thinks so poorly of him. 

“The kind where you don’t tell the other person because then it’s not a surprise. Now finish so I can get dressed, you can get some coffee and turn back into a human, and we can go have some fun.” Dean can hear the suspicious look on Sam’s face but he can also tell by the way Sam hurries through the taping that Sam is a teeny bit excited by the words _fun_ and _surprise_. Many a grand, if possibly semi-illegal, adventure had started out the same way when they were younger.

An hour later, stuffed with mountains of eggs and bacon and pancakes, fully caffeinated, Dean points the car down I-15 West. The two hours fly by. Sam is unusually happy and talkative and Dean's feeling really good about his plan. One quick stop at a Wal-Mart for supplies, including some Dean won’t let Sam see, and they're almost there. He’s tempted to blindfold Sam as they get closer. They pass the first sign for Splash Kingdom Waterpark as the 215 hits the 10 in San Bernardino. Sam’s face gets hard, but he doesn’t say anything. Dean sees him try to hold onto the light feeling they’d been floating in all morning. He smiles. “Something on your mind, Sam-a-lot?”

Sam shoots him a puzzled look at the nickname. Dean just waggles his eyebrows. Sam laughs but shakes his head. “Nope. Just – where’d you say we were headed?”

Dean wags a finger at him. “Lame try, man. I can keep a secret.”

“No you can’t,” Sam says incredulously.

Dean shrugged, conceding the point. “Well sometimes I can, if I really want to.” He smiles over at his brother. “And I really want to. Trust me?”

"Not even a little," Sam answers, narrowing his eyes suspiciously, as if weighing the consequences, but can’t stop the smile tugging at his pink lips. The smile wins and bursts across his face, dimples, white teeth and all. The wind from the window whips the hair around his face, and Dean is caught again by how beautiful his little brother is. _Jerk_.

Dean checks the road, then looks back at Sam, his own smile bright and realer than he can remember it being in a long time. This time, when his eyes catch Sam’s, the look in Sam’s eyes is a little different. A little darker, and his smile a little sharper. Dean drags his gaze away and quickly looks out the front window again. The traffic is getting heavier the more into town they get, but he can’t stop himself from looking at Sam. Sam has shifted so his back is angled towards the door. His left knee is bent up across the seat, almost touching Dean’s leg, right arm stretched across the door, elbow out the window, fingers drumming on the dashboard. Dean licks his permanently-chapped lips and sees Sam’s glance flick down to follow the motion. _Shit_. The road noise shifts slightly and Dean looks forward just in time to slam on the breaks and _not_ rear end the car in front of them. His right arm flies out automatically, slamming into Sam’s chest and holding him against the seat.

Sam chuckles. “Eyes on the road, man.”

Dean glares at him as the traffic inches forward. Sam just raises an eyebrow and glances down at where Dean’s hand is still on his chest, rubbing gently now. Dean’s eyes widen and he thumps Sam hard before quickly pulling his hand back. Maybe that two second trip down memory lane hadn’t been the best idea. He forces a laugh. “Been working out, Sammy? Not bad.” He keeps his eyes on the road, but he can still feel Sam’s eyes on him, feel the brush of Sam’s leg on his as they make their way through the stop and go traffic. 

At the last stop light, Dean turns towards Sam. His eyes are closed, thank god, and his head leaning against the car as he listens to the music, trusting Dean to get them where they are going. “Hey.” Dean rubs his knee to get his attention. Sam hmms and starts to lift his head. “No, keep your eyes closed.”

“What?” But he keeps his eyes closed.

“Trust me. Okay?” Dean rubs his knee again roughly, ending with a squeeze.

“Okay. How much longer?”

Dean peers out the window, seeing the twisty blue and yellow water slides poking over the mini-malls and restaurants lining the street. “Ten minutes. Can you handle it?” 

Eyes closed, Sam gestures out the window. “Lead on.”

A couple of turns, $10 for parking, and 8 ½ minutes later, Dean pulls into a parking spot as far away from the other cars as he can get. Bad ankle or not, he isn’t parking next to some greased-up pimply teenager hopped up on girls in bikinis. Sam had been sitting straight up for the last two minutes. Dean can see him fighting to keep his eyes closed especially when he stops to pay for the parking. “Okay. Open ‘em.”

Sam’s eyes snap open. “No way.” He leans out the window, looks at the slides, looks back at Dean, eyes wide and happy. “No way.”

“A most excellent idea. Right?” This is definitely the best idea Dean has ever had. Sam is looking at him like he is pie on legs, vibrating with excitement and leaning towards Dean. Dean finds himself leaning in towards his brother, too. Not a lot, just like he can feel the pull of Sam’s body. “I remembered you wanted to go. As a kid. That one time.”

Sam nods silently, staring right at Dean. He leans in even more, licking his lips. Dean thinks for a wild moment Sam is going to kiss him. He knows damn well how someone looks when they’re checking out his mouth and thinking about kissing him, and Sam, Sam looks just like that. His heart thuds against his chest. He can’t decide if he’s more afraid Sam _will_ kiss him or that Sam _won’t_ kiss him and he’s afraid to move, afraid that whatever he does will push the moment the wrong way. Whatever way that is.

A gaggle of screeching teenagers runs by. Dean hears a faint “awesome car” as they pass, and the moment is broken. Sam turns his head away and Dean is almost sure he hears Sam say _fuck_ under his breath. 95% sure. At least 80% sure. He forces a laugh and punches Sam in the shoulder.

Sam over-exaggerates a wince and rubs his shoulder. “Dude!”

“Dude,” Dean throws back at him. “Are we gonna get out of the car or what?”

Sam looks back at the park and then back at Dean like he can’t believe they’re actually there and he gets to have this. Like if he got out of the car, it might disappear. “Dean,” he says, shaking his head.

Dean blinks back a surprise surge of emotion when he’s hit again by how much Sam got cheated out of in his life. Dean is going to spend the rest of his trying to make it up to his little brother. “It’s okay, Sam. C’mon. Let’s go.”

“Do we even own bathing suits? These places don’t let you in without bathing suits.” Sam sounds like he's twelve again, like he’s grateful for Dean for trying but he’s preparing himself for disappointment. 

This Dean can fix. He reaches behind them and pulls out one of the Wal-Mart bags, yanking it over the backseat with a flourish. “Tah-dah!” He starts pulling things out and throwing them on Sam’s lap. “Sunscreen. Check. Goggles. Check. Towels. Check. And two bathing suits.” He tosses out one that looks like a pair of shorts with sharks on them, and one made of some black slinky stretch fabric. “Sharks are mine,” he announces, grabbing it back from Sam.

Sam is laughing at him and looking at him like he hung the moon. That is way too much for Dean to bear sober. He grabs the stuff and hops out of the car. He bangs on the roof when Sam doesn’t follow quickly enough. “Party on, dude. We are burning daylight. There are girls in bikinis just waiting to walk past me.”

They quickly gather their things and walk up to the Sphinx-shaped entrance. Sam smiles when Dean pulls out the brochure with the discount tickets. He shakes his head. “I was wondering what made you think of this.”

“Always keeping an eye out for you,” he answers while watching the transaction and hoping Henry Rollings credit card pulls through for them. It does and Dean resists the urge to give a little fist pump. Sam notices anyway and rolls his eyes with a smile. “Little things, Sammy. Little things.”

Through the bag search and metal detector and Dean is really glad he let Sam talk him out of bringing at least the small knife. "It’s a waterpark, Dean. How dangerous can it be?"

Dean shrugs. "Silkies? Sirens? Mermaids? Ghost of dead kids?"

Sam just pulls the knife out of his hand and puts it back in the trunk, shutting the hood firmly. "Waterpark, Dean. We’ll be the most dangerous things in there."

Dean grins and nods at that. “Damn straight.” Sam’s grin matches his. It may be twisted, but there is something awesome about knowing you can take down pretty much anything and anyone looking for trouble. Sam may bitch about hunting, but Dean knows he likes feeling dangerous.

They follow the crowd to the changing rooms. Sam pushes up against Dean and whispers in his ear. “I feel like people are going to think I’m a pedophile.”

Dean shivers at the breath against his ear, but Sam does have a point. They are the oldest, non-parental men in the dressing room. “It’s okay. If any one asks, I’ll just tell ‘em you’re my retarded younger brother. And I’m taking you out for a treat.”

“Dean!” Sam actually looks appalled and Dean can’t stop laughing. He’s bent over, arm across his stomach, trying to catch his breath when Sam pulls into one of the small changing stalls. No way are they getting naked in a room full of little boys.

It’s a tight fit, but they manage to get undressed and pull on their bathing suits. Dean’s sharks are a little tighter and a lot shorter than Dean had expected. He yanks at the legs, complaining. “Didn’t these things used to be longer?” he grumbles. 

Sam exhales from his struggles to pull his suit up. “At least,” huff “Your’s isn’t,” puff “a freaking girdle.” With a snap of elastic, he pulls it as high as it will go. “Ouch.” 

“It was that or a red Speedo,” Dean tells him. He turns to laugh at his whiny brother, but stops dead when he sees what Sam is wearing. He hears the incredulous sound he makes as all the air is forced out of his lungs, knows he must look like he got hit with a 2x4, but he can’t stop. All Sam is wearing is the black bathing suit. The skin-tight black spandex bathing suit that stops just a hair’s breadth below Sam’s hipbones. The hipbones that look like they’d fit just right into the palms of Dean’s hands. The hipbones framing a perfect six pack. Dean can’t help it, can’t look away, his eyes skidding off the hipbones, sliding down those abs to where the black fabric molds itself to Sam’s hard thighs and quite impressive package. “Sam,” he croaks out. “Jesus Christ.” 

Sam tugs at the suit, trying to get it to go up higher, and it shows every curve and swell of his cock and balls. Dean feels a little dizzy and reaches out, hand touching Sam’s chest. “Stop, Sam. Stop.”

Sam looks up with a frown at the touch. “What?”

“Sam, dude. You, ah, you can’t wear that,” Dean forces out, unable to take his eyes off of Sam’s body. Suddenly his swimsuit is feeling a little tight, too. “You can’t go out in that.”

Sam starts to laugh at his brother, but looks quickly slides into something darker as he takes in Dean’s eyes, wide and black with just a sliver of green, tongue reaching out to wet his lip. He catches Dean’s eye, and stands up, tugging slowly at the suit. “I guess it is a little tight.”

Dean’s laugh is strangled. Is it his imagination or is Sam standing closer? Not that there is a lot of room in this little cubicle. “Tight?” he almost squeaks. “You look like a freakin' porn star. You can see…everything.” He waves his hand in the general direction of Sam’s junk. And Sam is definitely closer. Dean’s fingers brush across the smooth fabric and he can’t stop himself. His body has a mind of his own and he grabs onto Sam’s thigh, fingers wrapping around the back of his leg, thumb rubbing into the groove at the top. Over the blood pounding in his ears, he is 100% sure he hears Sam say _fuck it_ and _Dean_ and the next things he knows, he is pushed against the wall of the stall with all 6’ 4” of Sam plastered to his front, and Sam’s mouth on his.

Dean’s vision blacks at bit at the edges as all of his blood apparently rushes to his dick. His mouth opens under Sam’s, hands going around to clutch at Sam’s perfect ass. Good lord, Sam can kiss. Sam is hard against Dean’s hip, grinding into him almost painfully. Dean’s hands scrabble over all of Sam’s body he can reach. One arm reaching up under Sam’s to grab Sam’s head and pull him closer. Sam hisses as Dean brushes the dressing on his shoulders and Dean yelps as Sam’s fingers dig into the cuts on his ass. The bright flare of pain brings them to their senses even as it makes them jerk and thrust against each other. Dean feels the curtain brush his shoulder and tries to care that only a thin sheet of plastic separates them from a room full of kids and civilians. He tears his mouth away from Sam, really meaning to say…something…possibly about stopping…but Sam’s eyes glitter as he looks down at Dean and Dean can only hold on as Sam wraps his hands under Dean’s ass, fingers sparking pain and sensation as they brush against the cut. He shoves his strong thigh between Dean’s legs and fucking _lifts_ him off the ground. Dean latches onto Sam’s neck to muffle the moans fighting to escape as he pushes against Sam’s cut and into Sam’s cock at the same time. Pain and sex, a Winchester double-feature. And they are so fucked up in so many ways. “Dean,” Sam moans into his ear and Dean is coming helplessly, thrusting against his little brother’s leg, toes scrabbling to reach the ground, to give him something to push against.

He feels Sam shuddering and shaking through his orgasm, hot pulses pushing through the spandex against Dean’s stomach. Sam shakily pulls his leg back, and Dean slides down to stand. They hold onto each other as they pant to catch their breath, the sounds of the dressing room reaching back into their consciousness.

Hand curled around the back of his neck, Dean looks up to meet Sam’s eyes. Sam looks scared and defiant and sorry all the same time. It’s such a Sam look that all Dean can do is laugh and pull Sam down for a kiss. A gentle one this time, letting his body say all the things he can’t.

Sam breaks the kiss to rest his temple on Dean’s head. Dean is still not used to Sammy being taller than he is. But after this, he can definitely see the advantages. “God, Dean,” Sam is saying and Dean tries to stop touching him long enough to listen. It’s really hard though. There is _so much_ of Sam for him to touch. “I’ve wanted to do that for so long.”

“I know,” Dean says absently, distracted by the long line of Sam’s neck millimeters from his mouth. “Me, too.”

Sam lifts up and puts a hand on Dean’s chest. Dean looks up, puzzled. Sam is frowning at him. Why is Sam frowning? You can’t frown after mind-blowing orgasms. It’s in the handbook. “What? You knew?”

Dean shrugs one shoulder. “I know when somebody wants me, Sam.”

“Because everyone does,” Sam says dully.

Dean doesn’t know where this went South but he is going to fix it if it kills him. He can’t believe they a) had sex and now b) are having this discussion surrounded by cement, bad lighting, and four day-camps worth of screaming kids, but he knows Sam. If he has time to think about it, he’ll drive himself into self-recrimination and blame and _we shouldn’ts_ and whateverthefuckelse that goes on in that oversized brain of his. He reaches up and pulls Sam’s forehead down against his. “Did you never see how I wanted you? Didn’t you ever know?”

Sam won’t make eye contact but he doesn’t pull away. “I thought…” he trails off.

Dean pulls his hand through Sam’s hair, twisting his head until he can kiss Sam again. It may be his new favorite thing. Then he remembers Sam lifting him up with on thigh and fucking him into the wall and shudders with a huge aftershock. Okay, that may be his new favorite thing. Reluctantly he pulls away but keeps his fingers in Sam’s hair. It’s so soft. Maybe he should stop teasing Sam about it. Nah. “You though what, baby boy?” Dean’s voice is a little rougher. Sam hasn’t really moved off of him this whole time and despite the mess of cold come in his ugly Wal-Mart bathing suit, little Dean is showing signs of being ready to go again. Dean runs free hand over Sam’s ass, feeling the muscles flex under the thin material. “What?” he asks again with a tug on Sam’s hair.

Sam inhales and circles his hips against Dean’s. Dean’s not sure he even knows he’s doing it. “I thought I was imagining it. I didn’t think you could … feel that way. About me.”

Dean gives into the temptation and licks up Sam’s neck to nip at his ear. Feeling bold, he drags his hand up Sam’s ass and slides it under the waistband. Sam inhales sharply. “Well, you never were all that bright.” Sam kisses him deeply after that and Dean goes with it. He is definitely up for another round. But this is probably not the place for it. He forces himself to stop kissing Sam and puts his hands against Sam’s chest, getting a little room. He looks pointedly down at their crotches. “Now you really can’t go out in that suit.”

Sam’s laugh is shaky but it’s there. He shakes his head. “You’re…you’re not freaking out, about” he waves his hand, gesturing between them, “ _this_? We’re brothers,” he adds, just in case Dean has forgotten.

Dean starts to pull his jeans back on over his soggy bathing suit. “Our names are on both the FBI's and hell's most wanted list. Half the demons in hell are howling for our blood. Do you really think _this_ is what’s going to send me off the deep end?” 

Sam looks stricken, like he can’t believe Dean just said all that out here where normal people could hear them. Dean can’t quite believe it either, but if they didn’t hear all the groaning and coming, he doubts the heard that. He stands up, buttoning his jeans, and looking at Sam. “You okay?”

Sam nods quickly.

“Want to do it again? Some place less public?”

Sam exhales loudly. “Fuck, yes.” He surges forward and Dean stops him with a hand to his chest. Sam frowns.

“First, waterpark, Sammy. Slides? Wave pool?”

Confused, Sam motions down to his ruined, too tight, sinfully pornographic bathing suit. Dean smirks. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll fix it." He grabs some cash out of his wallet and yanks the curtain aside. “Stay here,” he orders, striding out in nothing but jeans and a smile and looking like sex on legs. All Sam can do is watch.

“Okay,” he announces to the room, waving the bills over his head. “It’s my brother’s birthday. He’s never been to a waterpark, and the bathing suit I bought him doesn’t fit. Anybody got an extra suit to sell?” He smiles bright and wide as he hears Sam laughing behind him.

Ten hours later, sunburned, slightly drunk, and happily tired, they walk into a room in some forgettable hotel in a forgettable town in the middle of somewhere California. Or maybe Nevada. Dean groans as he throws himself backwards on the bed nearest the door. “Oh, god. I can’t move.” He kicks off his shoes, one at a time, groaning dramatically.

Sam stands at the end of the bed, two cold beers dangling from his fingers. “Really?”

“Really,” Dean says. He hears Sam take a drink, then feels Sam move up closer to the foot of the bed, standing between Dean’s legs as they dangle off the edge.

“Can’t move at all?” Sam asks as he rolls the cold beer bottle up the inside of Dean’s thigh. Dean can feel it even through the denim. 

“Well, maybe a little,” he allows, making grabby hands at the beer. Sam laughs and hands him one as Dean struggles up onto his elbows. 

Sam slides one knee up onto the bed and rubs and massages Dean’s thighs, leaning heavily onto him. “I can work with a little,” he says, reaching up to unbutton Dean’s jeans. “You don’t have to move too much for me to fuck you.”

“Jesus Christ, Sammy,” Dean moans as a shot of lust punches down his spine. Sam takes a long swallow of his beer. Dean is mesmerized by the way his lips wrap around the mouth of the bottle. God, Sam is gorgeous, especially when he has that predatory look in his eye. Dean spares a briefly moment of pity for all the demons and monsters that have been on the other end of that look, and more for all the men and women who will never get to see it. Because Sam is his and Dean never did learn how to share. Dean lifts his hips for Sam to pull his jeans down. Sam slinks off the bed and stands at the foot, lit only by the lights from the parking lot that sneak past the thin curtains. He slowly pulls off his shirt. The day in the sun has bronzed him and his muscles stand out like marble. 

“God damn, Sam,” Dean swears, suddenly finding the energy to sit up and pull off his own shirt. The blow job he’d given Sam against the Impala before they got here had only wound him up. He needs to feel Sam. Needs to get his hands and mouth on him again. He reaches up as Sam crawls up the bed over him.

“That was a most triumphant day,” Sam says laughing as he bends down to kiss Dean.

As their bodies touch without any barriers between them for the first time, Dean groans. Oh yeah, the waterpark was the most excellent idea ever.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry it took so long. Someday I'll be able to do PWP but the boys' heads are so fun to get into. And look, no dark Winchesters. And only mild angst. It's like it's not even me. Big angsty one to follow.


End file.
